


Sleeping Enough In The Grave

by Zai42



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Cuddling, Fluff, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Resurrection, implied horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-19 12:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22710829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zai42/pseuds/Zai42
Summary: "I don't want to take your bed from you, the couch is just fine.""You wouldn't be taking anything from me, I offered it - maybe the couch is better."
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 16
Kudos: 236
Collections: The Magnus Archives Rare Pairs 2020





	Sleeping Enough In The Grave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fairbanks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairbanks/gifts).



"You should sleep."

_"You_ should sleep."

It was, perhaps, not the most mature retort Jon had ever come up with, but given the way Gerry scrunched up his nose, it had at least stumped him. "I don't think I've seen you sleep since..." Gerry gestured vaguely. "I dunno. A few days, at least." 

That was a lie. It had been three days since Gerard Keay had clawed his way back to life; Jon had counted each one, and he was certain Gerry had as well. And he had slept since then - dozed, at least - spaced out after reading a statement, staring blankly at a wall until he jerked back to himself. Which, Jon realized belatedly, he had started to do now, his eyes following the animated gestures Gerry made with his hands as he spoke. He had not absorbed a single word of whatever Gerry had been saying.

Jon shook himself. "I've slept," he said, hoping that was still relevant. "You've been wandering around my house like a - " _Ghost,_ he stopped himself from saying. Gerry arched an eyebrow at him. "Cat," he finished. 

"Worried I'll bring you a dead rat?" 

"What would that even be, in this context?" Jon muttered. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw dancing lights, then glared at the piles of statements and files and notepads that had overtaken his coffee table. The couch shifted as Gerry collapsed onto it next to him, arm flung across the back. His hand was close enough to Jon's head that he could have turned and nuzzled into his palm; instead he counted the chips in Gerry's nail polish out of the corner of his eye. 

"You could at least stop with all this, for a bit." Gerry gestured at the spread of statements. Jon could feel his eyes on him, the weight of the judgement in them. With some effort, he nodded.

"You're right," he said. "I suppose it's been a...hectic few days."

"That's one way of putting it." Gerry settled back into the couch, sighing heavily, eyes slipping closed. A strand of hair had fallen loose across his face, and Jon brushed it behind his ear without thinking. Gerry's eyes remained very carefully closed.

"You, ah - you can take the bed, if that's the problem," Jon said, jerking his hand back as if it had been burned. 

Now Gerry opened his eyes. "I don't want to take your bed from you, the couch is just fine."

"You wouldn't be taking anything from me, I offered it - maybe the couch is better."

Gerry snorted. "Gracious host," he said. He pressed his palms against the couch cushions, bounced lightly. "It _is_ a pretty good couch," he conceded. He glanced around, yanked a throw quilt from where it had slid onto the floor, and stretched to hit the light switch without having to stand. A sliver of skin peeked out from beneath his T-shirt, pale but not bloodless. There were still bruises and scabbing claw marks visible, souvenirs from the ritual that had dragged him back from his undeath. The End had not surrendered him easily.

Jon realized Gerry had said something, and yanked himself back to the present. "What?"

"I _said,_ come here." Gerry coiled an arm around Jon's waist, urged him to lie down, his back pressed to Gerry's chest. "Since the couch is so great for sleeping. Anyone ever tell you you're a shit cuddler? Like holding onto a burlap sack full of coat hangers."

Jon twisted his neck to glare. "What a gift for simile you have," he groused, and forced himself to relax. Gerry's arm was warm and heavy around his midsection, a grounding weight that would have been easy enough to settle into, but - 

"Why haven't you been sleeping?" Jon murmured, quietly enough that Gerry could have pretended he hadn't heard, but for the way he stiffened.

"I - I was dead three days ago," Gerry said, after a silence lengthy enough that Jon thought he wasn't going to answer. "When I - _wasn't,_ when I was just in the book - it was fuckin' awful, yeah? I haven't wanted to be... _not."_

Jon threaded his fingers with Gerry's, running the pad of his thumb over the glossy polish on his nails. "That's fair," he said. Then, in a hurry, "I'm glad that you're - I mean, that you aren't - "

"Yeah," Gerry said, "me too." He squeezed Jon's hand, warm and solid. "Now shut up and go to sleep."

Jon let out a long sigh, grinning wryly into the dark of his living room. "Good night to you, too, Gerry."


End file.
